


Empty Spaces (I'm Less than I Was)

by mistrstank (dreamingdarkly)



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sassy Clint Barton, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Team as Family, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingdarkly/pseuds/mistrstank
Summary: Amidst a fury of fire and blood, everything Tony thinks of himself is burned away and he’s left with a gaping wound, an absence so deep he’ll never fill the hole. Tony enters the caves of The Ten Rings a hostage, beaten but defiant. He leaves Iron Man, born in blood and pain, the bodies of his enemies left burning behind him.After losing his Daemon in Afghanistan, Tony's not quite sure where to go next, or whether or not what returns to the States is even human. He's hanging on by a thread, not quite able to live, but not able to give up and die either. Until the Avengers, who show him how to heal, and Bucky Barnes, who might just give him a little something more.





	Empty Spaces (I'm Less than I Was)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So here is a project I have been working on for a really long time, and I am ridiculously proud of it. It's officially my longest Fanfiction work, and is complete. There are no sequels planned at this stage.
> 
> I've always enjoyed reading fanfics with Daemons, and I decided I wanted to play with the concept a little in this one. Plus, who doesn't enjoy some quality Tony-pain with a happy ending?
> 
> Unbetad, all mistakes slipped past my editing ;)

#  **Part One**

 

Tony has always been a pariah in the media, painted with every dark colour; a modern-day boogeyman with a bright smile and empty eyes. They called him a murderer, the Merchant of Death, Capitalism at it’s worst. He took their labels, wore them like battle scars, took every punch and kept smiling through the blood in his teeth. He picked up every broken piece and glued it back into place, never let them see the chinks in his armour.

 

_Stark men are made of iron._

 

Tony thinks there’s something painfully ironic in the words; Howard’s great motto, the number one rule for being Tony Stark. Never be human, never let them see you _bleed_ . He lives by those words his entire life, thinks “fake it until you make it”, pretends he feels nothing until fucking _Afghanistan_. Amidst a fury of fire and blood, everything Tony thinks of himself is burned away and he’s left with a gaping wound, an absence so deep he’ll never fill the hole.

 

It’s only after Afghanistan they start calling him _soulless_.

 

~x~

 

Afghanistan starts with blood and pain, so it’s really no surprise, it _shouldn’t_ have been  a surprise, that it ends that way as well. Tony wakes with a hole in his chest, his insides carved out and something _alien_ shoved back in. He wakes up to Astraea’s panicked eyes, tiny paws resting on his cheeks, and a man named Yinsen. Yinsen’s Daemon is an owl, and Tony doesn’t know much about birds but it’s tiny, and he rarely sees her. Yinsen says her name is Akira, since she never speaks to either Tony or Astraea.

 

Tony understands why Akira stays hidden so often, after he first tells the Ten Rings ‘no’.

 

He’s not sure what’s worse; the tepid water, churning as he thrashes and tries to hold his breath while water sparks on the exposed wires in his chest and brutal hands twist in his hair. Or the violation, the _wrongness_ and pain, as one of them holds Astraea tightly in his hands and _squeezes_.

 

In the end, it’s Astraea’s pain that makes him snap. The repeated almost-drowning is horrible, and he’ll have nightmares for the rest of his life and probably never have a bath again, but for his Daemon, he will fight. Tony Stark will endure physical torture, but you can take your _fucking hands_ off his damn soul.

 

“I'll do it.” Tony says, and grins through the blood in his teeth.

 

He builds a miniaturised arc reactor, thinks ‘fuck you, Howard’ at a long dead man and his disappointment, and replaces the battery in his chest. Astraea’s eyes glow gold in the light shining from his chest. She places a tiny paw on it, late at night when Tony’s screaming quietly into the fist he’s jammed into his mouth, rancid water running down his face. He’s building for them, but of course they haven’t _stopped_ .   
“It’s going to be okay,” Astraea murmurs, low and fierce. “We’re going _home,_ Tony, I promise.”

 

And Tony believes her.

 

He builds Iron Man, although he doesn’t know it at the time. It’s the ugliest fucking thing he’s ever built, clumsy, and he swallows a hysterical laugh, thinks ‘Frankenstein’s Monster’. Later, he’ll wonder if he was Frankenstein or the Monster, and decide he was probably both all along. Astraea hums approvingly, wrapped tight around his neck.  
“It’s fucking beautiful,” Tony decides aloud, foregoing his earlier thought. This, _this_ , is going to take them home. For the first time in three months, Tony feels hope.

 

“We don’t have enough time,” Yinsen murmurs, and then he’s gone, and Tony’s trapped, powerless in a metal fucking coffin.  
“Hold,” Astraea murmurs. “We’re nearly there.” She presses a cold nose into Tony’s temple, and Tony breathes. A moment later, and he’s free. “Our turn.” Astraea hisses, and Tony can’t help but agree.

 

Tony lays waste to the caves, and everyone he runs across. He pays them back for every breath they denied him, every dunk in that fucking tub, the resigned sadness in Yinsen’s eyes, the _hands on his Daemon_ . He leaves them choking on their blood and he feels nothing; he might have nightmares later, but now he’s the Merchant of Death and business is fucking _booming_ . Astraea stays inside the neckline of the armour, safe and warm against his skin. She murmurs lowly to him, keeps him focused as he clomps towards freedom. He finds Yinsen, stumbles clumsily to his side and drops to his knees. The helmet is dropped beside him, and Astraea pokes her head out. She makes a low moaning sound when she sees Akira, the Daemon bleeding gold dust everywhere and looking more intangible by the moment.   
“Yinsen,” He murmurs, helpless, hands hovering with no idea what to fucking _do_ , and he’s smart enough to know there isn’t anything he _can_ do. “We gotta, you gotta get up, we’re gonna go see your family.” He tries, desperate, because he feels like he keeps losing and Yinsen saved his damn life.   
“My family’s dead. I’m going to see them now.” Yinsen smiles, blood around his mouth, and reaches up to curl a careful hand around his dying Daemon.   
“It’s okay,” The little owl says, her voice warbling and weak. “This is what we want.”   
“Don’t waste it. Don’t waste your life.” Yinsen whispers, and then he’s silent, his hand slowly unfurling around a handful of golden dust.

 

Tony shudders, a full body thing, but he’s a genius, and he can compartmentalise; the job’s not done. He pushes slowly, laboriously to his feet, and turns around with helmet in hand.  
“Stark,” Raza says, sharp and cruel. Tony has a microsecond to react, but he’s off guard, hurting from Yinsen’s death and he hadn’t noticed Raza approaching. The missile catches Tony low in the chest plate, and explodes him across the cave. He hits the wall, knows there’ll be burns and scratches on his face from the explosion, though the armour absorbs a significant amount of the force and heat. What’s worse, though, is the sharp cry and the spray of golden dust across his vision.

 

Tony has felt pain, many times in his life; much more than ever in the past three months. He’s known emotional pain, physical, the soul deep ache of knowing you’re a disappointment to your parents and nothing will ever change that. But none of it, none of it comes even close to the feeling of Astraea dying. First there’s pain, red hot fire lancing through him, and it feels like it’s carving out everything inside. Then there’s grief, a sudden silence in his mind, the severing of a limb he’s relied on his entire life. He’s alone in the world, all of a sudden, acutely alone in a way no one else is or will ever be able to understand.

 

Tony enters the caves of The Ten Rings a hostage, beaten but defiant. He leaves Iron Man, born in blood and pain, the bodies of his enemies left burning behind him.

 

~x~

 

Tony doesn’t know who he is after Afghanistan, _what_ he is. There’s only three documented cases of someone losing their Daemon and surviving, but none of them were sane. Tony wouldn’t say he’s _okay_ , because Astraea is dead, but he’s pretty sure he’s sane. They talk about locking him up, at first, and then he passes the psych evaluations they make him sit; that’s when the whispers start.

 

_There’s something not right with Stark._

 

_Did you see? His Daemon’s gone._

 

_He’s got no Daemon._

 

_How can he have no Daemon? Is he even human?_

 

Tony takes it all the same way he’s taken everything life has ever thrown at him. He hides behind his mirrored sunglasses and smiles with too much teeth; a wounded animal, defiant even as the predators keep tearing bits away. He wonders how long until there’s nothing left.

 

Nothing _fits_ , anymore, nothing is right. Tony’s lost, at sea, an infant stumbling in the dark, really any metaphor at all will fucking do, the point is he doesn’t know what he’s _doing_. He tries drinking, at first; the classic Stark method for dealing with shit. He pickles his liver every night for a week, wakes feeling like death and praying to the porcelain gods and.

 

It.

 

Doesn’t.

 

Help.

 

It doesn’t dull the pain, even for a moment, doesn’t fill the hole he’s constantly aware of having inside. There’s a hollowness in him now, he’s a bag of flesh and bones wrapped around an empty centre. He looks in the mirror and he sees the truth, dead eyes and an empty, bloody grin. The arc reactor shines like a star in his chest, and he wants to choke on the irony.

 

He quits drinking. It doesn’t do anything, anymore.

 

He builds the MK II, and that...Helps, a little. He saves Yinsen’s village from the same scumbags that took everything from him, and he blows his weapons off the map. He’s still empty, but for a moment there’s a tiny spark of warmth, of satisfaction. It’s not happiness, but it’s a reason to keep going, and maybe that’s all there is for him now.

 

He’s still alive, and he has to believe there’s a reason or he really will go insane.

 

People stop touching him, like they’ll catch something if they get too close. Even Pepper keeps her distance. She doesn’t entirely avoid him, but she doesn’t invade his space like she used to. Tony wants to laugh, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to it; he’s strangely grateful for the space. He’s always been tactile, and Astraea always indulged him, but she’s gone now and Tony...He can’t. He’s dirty, tainted now. Rhodey still reaches out, unafraid and uncomplicated in the way he wraps Tony up. He tucks Tony under his chin and squeezes him like he’s something precious, something to be protected. Tony allows it, because only Rhodey has ever been allowed the privilege to make him feel that way, and it’s nice to think that here’s one thing Afghanistan didn’t take from him. Even Artemis, Rhodey’s German Shepard Daemon, brushes her nose gently across the back of his hand once. Rhodey’s face twitches, a tiny grimace curling over his mouth, but he doesn’t draw away, and he doesn’t pull Arty back. Tony knows it’s supposed to be wrong, to touch another’s Daemon, but the brief contact is so pure, a gift with no expectations, that Tony is pathetically grateful. He shudders, and clings to Rhodey a little tighter, to the only port in the storm he has.

 

Shutting down weapons manufacturing at Stark Industries is almost cathartic; it’s too little, too late, but Tony doesn’t know what else to do. By all rights, he should be dead, and he’s not. Tony has never known how to just _stop_ ; he doesn’t know how to give up, to say ‘enough is enough’ and lie down, let the world keep trampling over him. All he knows is fighting, being the loudest voice in the room because it’s the only way you’ll be heard, cutting deep on the first strike because he’ll never survive a retaliation, keep breathing even when you feel like you can’t, because no one is going to do it for you. Tony’s spent his life walking barefoot over hot coals, never allowed to flinch or falter, and it’s all he knows.

 

So he keeps walking.

 

Becoming an Avenger is more of an accident than becoming Iron Man. He thinks, _I’m still here_ , and he wonders why, and he thinks of that brief warm spark when he’d saved Yinsen’s village. It doesn’t make everything better, doesn’t really fix anything, but it’s _purpose_ . So when Nick Fury leans over a table, stares hard at him with one eye, and slides a folder labelled ‘Top Secret’ across the top, Tony looks. Tony reads, and he says,   
“Okay.”

 

He doesn’t think much of it; he’s focused on getting rid of every scrap of his weapons that remains. Nowhere is safe for an arms dealer. Iron Man is relentless, and with Tony Stark’s resources, he’s got a pretty good success rate for finding his man. Tony cuts sleep out as much as possible, deems it both unnecessary and counterproductive to his already floundering mental state. He survives on a diet of coffee and protein shakes, spends hours in his workshop with only his bots and JARVIS for company. Rhodey checks in as often as he can, but life doesn’t stop because Tony’s falling apart, one bloodied piece at a time. Pepper doesn’t seem to know what to do with him, reaches out like she wants to smooth over the jagged edges, try to put him back together, but Tony looks at her, and he’s hollow and he doesn’t know how to reach back. Her mouth purses and she stops; she’s there, Pepper will never abandon him, but she can only get as close as Tony will let her, and Tony is closed off, shut down.

 

And then a godly sibling rivalry comes to Earth, and things get a little crazy, and a fucking portal opens up and spits an alien army at them. Tony finds this whole Avengers thing has gone from a top-secret file, a whispered idea, to a reality. He fights, and he pummels a Chitauri right as it’s chasing a young mother and her baby. The woman looks up, and the city is burning around them and there’s still an army, she doesn’t have time to stop running; but she does, and she looks up. There’s a moment, there, where Tony could swear he feels Astraea’s warm approval, when this woman looks at him like he’s a hero, like he’s something to be _thankful_ for. It’s a moment that stays with him, warms him through his flight upwards, hugging a nuke, until he dives into endless black. It feels right, to go like this. Yinsen will be proud, he thinks,   
“I’m coming, Rae.” Tony whispers to the space inside his helmet, and he closes his eyes for the fall.

 

Things change, after New York. Tony invites the Avengers to live in his tower, but he expects them all to reject the offer; no one likes to be around him, now that he’s _unnatural_ . Surprisingly, they don’t, and suddenly Tony has a _team_. He doesn’t know what to do with these people, these strangers who gravitate awkwardly outside each other's space, wary but desperately looking for an invitation. Natasha and Clint already know each other, of course, and they orbit each other as naturally as anything Tony’s ever seen. For the rest of them, it’s awkward and slow, it takes time for them to find their rhythm. Slowly, Tony finds his isolation being chipped away. Pepper and Rhodey did the best they could, but they were only two people, and they didn’t live with him. Suddenly, Tony finds himself dragged out of the lab for things like movie nights. He spars with Natasha, plays video games with Clint, meditates with Bruce once, and then exchanges that for lab time when it sends him into a panic attack. Meditating, it turns out, is a great way to focus on the hollow space inside of you. Thor drags him on adventures around the city, makes Tony go with him for every new fascinating Midgardian discovery. Steve spends hours in the workshop with him, drawing or reading quietly, and it’s largely Steve that Pepper and Rhodey have to thank when Tony starts packing on the weight he’d lost.

 

Things get...Better.

 

It still hurts, when he watches Steve idly running his fingers through Lillith’s thick fur, or Clint popping out of the vents with Zayde in tow. Bruce and Janaela read together, the bear’s big head resting heavily on her human’s shoulder. Natasha sleeps in the living room, Kyrrn watching over her rest. It hurts to watch the tiny, intimate moments between his teammates and their souls, to know he’ll never experience it again himself. He thinks it will always hurt, and maybe the fact he can still feel at all is a good thing. The Avengers are oddly accepting, and with them Tony finds some semblance of normality. There’s no hesitation in the way they touch him; they invade his space and his life, and Tony can’t complain because it’s good.

 

Besides, Tony’s used to pain.

 

~x~

 

The press conference starts out well; The Avengers, minus Bruce for obvious reasons, stand in a careful row while Tony takes the microphone. Occasionally, Steve will interject with the odd comment, but Tony has played this game his entire life, and he’s good. They’d fought an honest to god Godzilla the day before, and it had drop kicked Hulk through the children’s wing of a hospital. Miraculously, no one was killed, but the public is understandably aghast. Tony is playing the crowd with all the finesse a lifetime in the public eye affords him, carefully selecting which reporters to take questions from. It’s a moment of inattention; a Daemon that looks _heartbreakingly_ similar to Astraea winding around a man’s shoulders. Tony blinks, frozen, and after a brief delay Steve leans forward and indicates someone from the crowd. Later, Tony will reflect that Steve was clearly trying to cover for Tony, but in the moment all he feels is dread; the clear sense of doom before a fatal stumble.   
“Mister Stark, how do the Avengers intend to respond to this wanton property destruction?” Christine Everhart says, coolly professional but for the nasty little curl to her mouth. Tony keeps his expression calm through sheer force of will, even manages to smile.   
“The Stark Relief Foundation is already in talks with the hospital. We will of course fully fund the repairs to the building and compensate the families of those affected.” He responds easily, barely aware of the grave nod Steve gives next to him. Christine smirks and leans forward, and Tony braces himself for the barb he can see gathering behind her tongue. “Money doesn’t fix everything, Mister Stark.” She intones, and Tony can see the vicious glee in her eyes. “I understand that someone such as yourself may not feel as... _distressed_ as the rest of us, but surely you can at least _logically_ understand the impact of this tragedy?” She continues, and not even Tony can stop the almost full body flinch; the blade slips neatly between his ribs, and he has the hysterical thought he should check for blood. Steve leans forward immediately, blonde brows lowered in disapproval.   
“You’re way out of line, Miss.” He almost growls, but the damage is already done. Tony finds himself sandwiched by the rest of the team, gently ushered backwards until he’s at the back of the stage, out of view. Natasha slips her arm through his, squeezes gently even as she’s tugging him away, but Tony finds he can do nothing but stare blankly forward.

 

 _Monster_ , Christine Everhart’s eyes had said, and Tony wants to laugh, and scream. He wants to shut his ears against the truth, bury his head in the sand until it goes away.

 

 _I know_ , he thinks.

 

~x~

 

Tony stumbles into the lab the moment they get back to the Tower.  
“Lock it down, J.” He rasps, barely hears the AI’s response. He holds it together until the door slides closed behind him with a gentle _snick_ and the windows black out. The moment he’s clear, Tony’s knees turn to jelly and he collapses to the floor.   
“Sir!” JARVIS says, sharp and concerned, and Tony flaps a hand vaguely at the ceiling, scuttles across the floor until his back is flush against his workbench.   
“‘M’fine,” He manages, curls into himself, arms around his knees like he can keep himself together if he just holds on tight enough. His vision is going grey at the edges, and the air feels thin in lungs that are heaving, desperate.   
“Sir, I need you to breathe or I will be forced to alert the Avengers.” JARVIS sounds almost panicked, and Tony makes a desperate snatch at calm. DUM-E wheels up with a series of shrill beeps, crowding against Tony’s legs until he’s in danger of being run over. Gently, so gently, DUM-E passes his claw over the top of Tony’s hair.   
“No, nnno Avengers.” Tony mumbles, reaches out with shaking hands to grasp at DUM-E’s support strut. “I just...I just need a minute.” He continues, and hates how weak he is, cowering on the workshop floor like a child. He sits there for a long time, long enough for U and Butterfingers to join the huddle. He’s surrounded on all sides by metal and soft beeping, JARVIS’ smooth intonations echoing from the ceiling as the AI starts to count. Tony breathes to the rhythm of JARVIS’ counting, feels his heart rate slowly settle into something approaching normal.   
“Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting entrance.” JARVIS interrupts his counting to say, and Tony flinches minutely. His first instinct is to deflect, hide; Stark men are made of _iron_ . But...And he can admit this, at least in the privacy of his own mind: Tony is tired. He’s so tired, but he doesn’t know how to stop.   
“Let him in, J.” Tony whispers, can’t quite believe the words as they pass his lips. The doors slide open and Steve stands there for a moment, clearly flabbergasted. He rallies quickly, however, and a moment later strides into the workshop like a man ready to go to war. Blue eyes sweep the interior of the workshop briefly and then settle on Tony. Some twisted want to punish himself leaves Tony caught, staring at Steve’s face as the other man spots him. Steve’s face spasms, angry and pained, but there’s no pity, and Tony doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what to do with the Avengers most days, but moments like this he feels especially lost. Steve doesn’t speak, merely crosses the space and sinks gracefully down at Tony’s side. He worms his big frame easily in among the bots, sandwiches Tony between the cool, familiar frame of DUM-E and his own blazing warmth. Lillith is nowhere in sight, and Tony wonders at the absence with a distant sort of curiosity.

 

They sit there together in the silence for a long time, and Tony doesn’t even notice when he slowly uncoils, allowing himself to sink into Steve’s warmth an inch at a time. They don’t speak, but they don’t have to. Steve is just...There. Tony doesn’t know what to do with that, hasn’t had anyone but Rhodey so unapologetically up in his space since... _Astraea_ .   
  
“I’ve got you, Tony.” Steve eventually whispers, gentle and kind. And Tony?

 

Tony believes, for just a moment.

 

~x~

 

Tony feels a little less empty after that day, which he supposes is a strange kind of irony. The Avengers feel less like a team and more like a family. Tony knows he’s still broken, knows that isn’t going away, but he’s no longer _hollow_ . There’s an emptiness, but there’s also love, and it’s so good it _hurts_ . Rhodey visits, and Tony realises how much strain Rhodey’s been under since Afghanistan only now that he can see the relief, the sincerity in his brother’s smiles.   
“You’re looking good, Tones.” Rhodey presses a kiss against Tony’s temple, wraps firm arms around him, surrounds him with the feeling of _home_ . Arty flicks her tail against his leg, and Tony huffs a laugh.   
“Thanks, Platypus. Who would have thought superheroing looks good on me.” He quips, and is surprised by the spark of genuine humour he feels.

 

Later, alone with his thoughts and JARVIS, Tony examines the feeling a little more closely, and realises with no small amount of surprise: he’s _healing_.

 

##  **Part Two** **  
****  
**

The Avengers have been together for two years, and some days Tony can almost convince himself he’s human. He knows he smiles more, and finds he even means it at least half of the time. He still spends far too much time in the workshop, forgets to eat more often than he remembers, but overall things are...Good.

 

Natasha comes to him in the early hours of the morning, slipping wraithlike and silent through the doors of the workshop. She’s dressed in sweatpants Tony is sure were his at some point, and a shirt that was definitely Steve’s; she looks soft, the sharpened edges of the Black Widow worn down to show Natasha. Tony puts his soldering iron down, and pushes his safety goggles up into the tangled mess of his hair. He stands as she approaches, taking a moment to stretch the kinks in his spine.  
“Hey,” He greets, and almost smiles when Natasha sidles up to lean against his side. Tony tucks his arm around her shoulders, careful to avoid the place Kyrrn is perched. The owl eyes his arm for a moment and then merely closes his eyes, utterly uninterested in the proceedings. Nat tips her head against Tony’s shoulder and her breath ghosts across his neck in a quiet sigh.   
“I need your help.” She murmurs, and Tony hums inquisitively. “I have...A friend. Well, I owe him. I got out, but I don’t think he ever did. I want to change that. ” She continues, feeling her way delicately through the words.

 

Perhaps it’s easier, with her face tucked away where Tony can’t see her expression, but Tony doesn’t think he’s ever heard Natasha sound this raw, this honest.  
“What can I do?” He asks when she’s been quiet for some time, jostling her gently. He thinks he feels a smile curl against the skin of his neck, tiny but no doubt beautiful in its sincerity.   
“I need you to find a needle in a stack of needles.” She replies, tone wry, and Tony huffs a laugh.   
“My darling, terrifying Widow. You wound me with your lack of faith!” Tony quips, and then steps away after giving her one last reassuring hug around the shoulders. He fires up his holographic screens with a gesture, flooding the workshop with soft blue light.   
“Alright, gimme what you’ve got.” He demands with an imperious hand wave. Nat quirks an eyebrow at him, but obligingly takes Tony’s recently vacated stool. She fishes in the pocket of his misappropriated sweats and produces a tiny thumbdrive.   
“He’s called the Winter Soldier, and he’s practically a ghost story. He...trained us, in the Red Room. There’s not much here, but it’s all I’ve managed to mine from HYDRA.” She looks frustrated by the admission. Tony whips the drive from her unresisting fingers and plugs it in.   
“Alright, J, throw it on the screens.” JARVIS doesn’t reply, except to do as he’s asked. Tony flicks rapidly through the information, frowning thoughtfully.

 

Nat isn’t exaggerating, not that Tony would ever suspect her of doing so. There’s precious little information on the drive, but they don’t call Tony a genius for nothing. He flicks through the files rapidly, pulling a stylus from his back pocket and jotting notes on another screen JARVIS obligingly throws up.  
“No promises, Nat.” He throws over his shoulder after some time, frowning thoughtfully at his screens. “I’ll do what I can.” He adds, and when he turns he sees another of her small smiles tugging at her mouth.   
“It’s all I ask.” She responds, and drops a kiss on his cheek as she leaves.

 

“Alright, JARVIS, it’s time to work some magic.” Tony says into the silence of the workshop after.  
“Indeed, sir. I shall start by cross-referencing Miss Romanov’s files with your HYDRA database.” JARVIS responds, and he sounds almost as though he’s looking forward to the challenge. Tony grins, a tiny spark of humour and pride warming his chest.   
“That’s my boy.”

 

~x~

 

Tracking the Winter Soldier, as it turns out, is a frustratingly slow process. HYDRA has been under the radar since the years immediately following Steve crashing the plane. Recently, he and the rest of the Avengers have been raiding small HYDRA installations, mostly reclaiming stolen alien technology from the Chitauri invasion. They’d thought them mostly isolated, disorganised pockets remaining of the super power HYDRA had been. Now, as Tony starts looking for their pet assassin, he feels a sinking suspicion that they may have been very, very wrong, because the more he looks the more he _finds_. He feels like he’s opened the world’s biggest fucking can of worms. Each new, horrifying breadcrumb leads him a little further down the rabbit hole. The Avengers are run ragged, as Tony finds base after base, and he knows he should stop; they all need to rest, before they start making mistakes. Steve’s stopped sleeping, looks pale and worn, and Tony knows he’s caught up in the nightmares of his past. He feels guilty, but also like he’s started on a slippery slope and there’s no way to halt the momentum.

 

Tony’s most recent find is an installation in _Oklahoma_ , of all places. Tony almost spat out his coffee when he found it mentioned in their most recent data mine. It doesn’t look like much on the satellite images; a hunting cabin in buttfuck nowhere, backed by a mountain and surrounded by trees. They land the Quinjet a respectable distance away, the stealth tech engaged to limit the chances of HYDRA seeing them coming.   
“Comms check.” Steve says as the Quinjet comes in for a landing, and the team obediently cue their comms one by one. Once they’ve confirmed the gear, Steve glances at Tony.   
“Alright, Shellhead, what’s the plan?” He smiles, tired but genuine, and Tony feels a burst of warmth at the nickname.   
“It’s gotta be an underground bunker. JARVIS detected multiple small energy signatures when we flew in; enough to account for surveillance tech, anyway.” He continues. Natasha smirks, and reaches up to gently flick Kyrrn off her shoulder. As they depart the Quinjet, the owl glides soundlessly up into the trees, disappearing in moments.   
“Leave that to us.” She says, as Clint slings his bow across his back and jogs forward into the trees.   
“Keep us updated.” Steve orders immediately, and Natasha responds with a sardonic salute.   
“There may be traps closer to the cabin.” Tony warns, and pointedly doesn’t flush at the unimpressed eyebrow lift Natasha levels at him. A moment later and she too is gone, leaving Tony alone with Steve and Bruce.   
“You stay on the jet, Big Green.” Tony says, and Bruce smiles, fiddling with his glasses.   
“You sure, Tony?” He asks, almost whisper soft, but the relief in his eyes is obvious. Janaela’s eyes seem to smile at Tony, and before he can say anything the bear gently but firmly nudges Bruce back up the ramp.   
“Come on, Capsicle, let’s go ruin HYDRA’s day.” Tony calls, and starts walking to the soft sound of Steve’s laughter. Lillith jogs up beside him, easily pacing Tony’s clomping steps. He’d like to fly, but with Natasha and Clint doing their spy thing, the armour would make too much noise.   
_“No traps, but I’ve found the cameras.”_ Natasha says evenly, not sounding even slightly out of breath.   
_“Surprise!”_ Clint says a moment later, and Tony snorts softly.   
“No point disabling them, that’ll just tip them off.” Steve decides. “Any chance of seeing what’s in the cabin on the sly?” He asks after a moment’s thought.   
_“Hold.”_ Natasha replies, and the comms fall quiet. Tony and Steve walk in a comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder with Lillith ranging around them. Her tawny fur glows in the dappled sunlight, and Tony amuses himself watching the pattern play across her muscled shoulders.   
_“One occupant, dressed in hunting gear.”_ Natasha says, and Clint chuckles almost immediately.   
_“Shhh,”_ He whispers, and Tony’s already grinning before he continues. _“Be vewy, vewy quiet. We’re hunting HYDRA!”_   
“I hate you.” Steve huffs, but his lips are twitching.   
“Race you, Cap?” Tony interrupts before Clint can snark some more. Steve grins, and before Tony’s even fired the boots he’s off and running.

 

The ‘hunter’ looks almost comically surprised when Iron Man quite literally drops through his ceiling, but recovers quickly. A semiautomatic comes up, but he never gets the chance to fire as Steve barrels through the door, and with a metallic clang the shield sends the gun flying. Tony takes advantage of the distraction to hit the guy square in the chest with a repulsor blast, with the settings just high enough to knock him out. Natasha makes a more sedate entrance, stepping daintily over the splintered remains of the door, with Clint trailing behind her.  
“Alright, J, gimme a scan of the room.” Tony says as the team fans through the small building. Natasha is the one to crouch down and efficiently snap restraints on their hunter.   
_“One moment, sir.”_ JARVIS responds immediately. Tony wanders a little further in, nose wrinkling as the floorboards creak alarmingly beneath the armour’s weight.   
_“Sir, I detect that the dimensions of this room do not match that of the building’s exterior walls.”_ JARVIS says, and Tony eyes the walls appraisingly.   
“JARVIS says the dimensions of the building don’t match the interior.” He says out loud for the team’s benefit. They spread out and begin testing along the walls, focusing on the interior ones that seem to lead into other rooms of the cabin.   
_“I detect an air current to your left.”_ JARVIS murmurs, and Tony obligingly moves along.   
“Please be a secret door, please be a secret door,” Tony murmurs, pressing carefully along the walls. There’s a quiet click as he touches something, and a panel slowly swings open. “Yay!”

 

The new opening reveals a depressingly small hole and a ladder leading down.  
“Well, that seems to support your underground bunker hunch.” Clint chirps from over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony spends a moment to sneer at the archer.   
“Excuse you, Legolas, I am a genius. I don’t have _hunches_ , I have theories, backed up by evidence!” He cries, mock offended. The room is too small for them all to fit, and once it might have made Tony uncomfortable, the way the team crowds against his back for a better look. Now he just feels warm, to have them so close.   
“Bruce, we’ve definitely got an underground base. Stay on standby for now.” Steve says behind him, waiting just long enough for Bruce’s acknowledgement before he nods at Tony.   
“Once more into the breach.” Tony intones gravely, and then with a jaunty salute he jumps into the hole.

 

The base, it turns out, isn’t as deep as Tony had initially suspected. The ladder goes down for about 15 feet and bottoms out in a dimly lit room. There’s three guards in the room, and bullets ping off the armour in the time it takes Tony to target all of them and fire off his stun rounds.  
“Clear!” Tony calls out the moment his boots touch the ground, and he’s already moving to restrain the men. The rest of the Avengers descend rapidly down the ladder, Steve coming first with Lillith slung awkwardly over his shoulder. They leave the room together, and split into two teams when the corridor forks. The base seems more populated than their usual fare, and Tony finds himself wading through a seemingly endless supply of HYDRA goons with Steve. The corridors are narrow, the ceilings low, which makes manoeuvring the Iron Man armour awkward at the best of times. The floors slope down, however, and so the deeper they move into the base, the more room Tony has to move. Lillith is a golden blur, and Tony keeps a wary eye on the Daemon as she tears into HYDRA Daemons.   
_“We’ve found the labs.”_ Natasha says, and Tony doesn’t bother telling her to copy everything.   
“I guess we’re on our way to the command centre, then.” Steve suggests, punctuating the statement with the heavy application of his fist to an unfortunate agent’s face.   
“Would make sense,” Tony grunts, swooping in to bodily slam several more men out of Steve’s path. “Generic HYDRA base, generic layout.” He continues, as Lillith bounds forward and uses Tony’s shoulder as a springboard. A doberman Daemon yelps and is almost immediately silenced as the lioness sinks her teeth into its throat.

 

It’s Steve who busts into the command centre first, despite Tony’s usual insistence on doing these things. After all, he’s the armoured one. There’s a skeleton crew left in the room, and the battle is short but brutal. Tony pours over the bodies when they’re done, scowl growing the longer he looks.  
“No officers. Fuck.” He declares, and Steve abandons his search of the room to join him.   
“Language.” He says softly, and Tony snorts.   
“Widow, we’ve got the security office under our control. No officers present, though.”   
_“We didn’t come across any, either. Evacuated?”_   
“Possible. Let me see if I can get some more detailed blueprints.” Tony steps out of the armour, trusting Steve to watch his back as he plops down at the newest computer. The security system is pathetically easy to get into, and a frisson of warning dances down Tony’s spine.   
_“Did this seem ridiculously easy to anyone else?”_ Clint asks, in an uncanny echo of Tony’s own thoughts. As if his words are a trigger, the screens of all the computers in the room abruptly go blank. Tony stands up purely on reflex, feeling the heat of Steve at his back, and Lillith growls softly. A moment later, the screens light up again, and Tony finds himself staring at the silhouette of a man in the barely discernible background of an office.   
_“Mr Stark,”_ The man says, the voice wobbly and distorted.   
“Hi, Charlie.” Tony quips on autopilot, and ignores the exasperated (and confused) glance Steve sends his way.   
_“I’m picking up a large energy spike from the bunker,”_ Bruce murmurs on the comms, and Tony carefully keeps his face blank. _“You need to get out of there.”_   
_“You have become a considerable thorn in HYDRA’s side, Mr Stark.”_ Steve tugs at Tony’s arm, and Tony obligingly moves back towards the armour.   
“Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because, honestly, I’m taking it as a compliment.” Tony keeps talking, even as he steps into the armour, and feels it fold around him.   
_“Did you think we did not notice your interest in our activities? You are surprisingly short sighted for a self proclaimed genius.”_   
“Um, excuse you!” Tony splutters immediately. “There’s no ‘self proclaimed’ about it!” For all that he can’t see the man’s face, there’s a clear smirk in his voice.   
_“You are a fool, Tony Stark, but a meddlesome one. Just like your father.”_ Tony freezes, goes cold; he feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. Steve crowds against the shoulder of the armour, and Tony wishes he could feel his warmth.   
_“HYDRA is not in the habit of ignoring threats. As your father before you, you shall be eliminated.”_ Tony scoffs, with more bravado than he feels.   
“As terrifying it is to be threatened by someone who’s clearly seen way too many Bond movies…” Tony trails off, letting the insult hang. The silhouette shakes it’s head, and now he sounds pitying. _“As I said, you are a fool. You have walked into a trap, Mr Stark. As we have...Conversed, various bombs around the base have activated. We mean to bury you, Mr Stark, and the Avengers along with you. Hail HYDRA.”_ The screens go blank once more, and Tony goes white at the first distant sounding boom. The floor vibrates under their feet.   
“Avengers, move!” Steve shouts, scooping Lillith up with one arm and throwing the other around Tony’s shoulders. It’s a move they’ve practiced many times, and so it’s almost smooth when Tony locks an arm around Steve’s waist and fires down the hallway.

 

The explosions sound closer, now; dirt and rubble rains down on them as they fly, and Tony finds himself twirling wildly through the air. They meet up with Clint and Natasha at the ladder. Natasha goes first, scrambling nimbly upwards with Clint on her heels. Tony paces them, watching the readings on the HUD as the base quite literally comes down around their ears. A piece of rubble catches Natasha in the shoulder, hard enough that she loses her grip with a hiss of pain. Tony plucks her off the ladder a split second later, and she calmly wraps her three functioning limbs around him as they fly upwards. It’s a close call, with the three of them barely clearing the cabin before the structure folds into the giant sinkhole forming in the ground.

 

“Well,” Tony declares, when they’re all lying on the floor of the Quinjet, panting for oxygen like they’ll never have enough. “That sucked.”

 

~x~

  


In the end, the Winter Soldier finds them.

 

Well, Tony and Steve that is. They’re taking a rare moment from the endless HYDRA head hunt, which feels especially necessary after the last disaster. Tony has dragged Steve from the tower, bulldozing through the Captain’s protests with his usual infuriating charm. Tony is as close to relaxed as he can get in public, almost able to pretend people aren’t eyeing the space around him where a Daemon should be with suspicion and pity. He’s got his best friend at his side, shoulders pressed comfortably together, and one of the best damn hotdogs in the world in his hand. For a moment, he even forgets the guilt Natasha’s bandaged shoulder constantly arouses in him.  
“Thanks for this, Tony.” Steve says with a little smile, looking on fondly as two children chase each other down the path, screaming and laughing. Tony shrugs a little with the shoulder Steve isn’t leaning on,   
“No problem, Cap. I think we all needed a break.” Steve snorts a little, but doesn’t disagree. They both know how hard the team has worked in recent months. They both know that Natasha’s injury pains her more than she’ll admit, and Clint worries more than he’ll say.

 

It’s pure chance that saves Tony’s life. A strong breeze blows abruptly towards them, and tips Tony’s soda can from where it had sat on the bench next to his left. Tony leaps up, rescuing the seat of his pants from as much of the colourful spill as he can. The slug that would probably have caught him neatly between the eyes instead grazes painfully across his side. Tony cries out, his knees buckling, burning agony flaring even as he presses a hand to the wound. Steve grabs him and slides him gently to the ground; he waits long enough to see Tony sluggishly apply pressure to his own wound, and then he’s off. Tony watches through blurry eyes as Lillith roars and charges across the park, tackling a truly massive grey timber wolf in a fury of teeth and claws. Steve isn’t far behind her, and the assassin throws the rifle down in favour of meeting him head on.

 

It terrifying, watching the two men exchange blows, and realising Steve is _evenly matched_ .   
“JARVIS,” Tony rasps, glad as he always is for the ever present ear piece he carries. “Alert the Avengers, we’ve got an enhanced assassin trying to beat Cap’s face in.”   
_“Of course, sir. Shall I also call an ambulance?”_ JARVIS responds, in the tone of one who knows their suggestion is about to be summarily dismissed.   
“Ridiculous. Do send the armour, though.” Tony snorts. The death match appears to continue, and Tony almost chokes on his tongue when the masked assassin catches Steve’s shield, the sun reflecting off the gleam of a (holy shit) _metal arm_ . He throws it aside, and then they’re back to fist fighting; Steve’s nose is bleeding and Lillith’s golden fur is spotted with blood. Tony lurches to his feet and stumbles towards them, groaning under his breath with every step. When he’s close enough, he grabs his wrist and turns the watch face. The gauntlet works as beautifully as he’d hoped, expanding over his hand in seconds. Steve is on the ground now, the assassin straddling him and raining blows down.   
“Hey asshole!” Tony yells, with more strength than he feels. The attack pauses just a moment, narrow blue grey eyes lifting to assess the new threat. Tony takes advantage of the opportunity, and with a high pitched whine, he fires. The assassin flies backwards, and Steve launches himself afterwards. They grapple a moment, and then the mask is torn aside.

 

And Steve freezes.

 

“B-Bucky?” He whispers, a painful amount of longing and fear in the single word. The assassin frowns,  
“Who the hell is Bucky?” He rasps.

 

~x~

 

“What a clusterfuck.” Tony declares, frowning thoughtfully through the glass door of the Hulk containment room. Barnes is still unconconscious, thoroughly whammied after Clint loaded him with enough tranquilizers to sink an elephant. His Daemon lays at the foot of the bed, the wolf barely managing to fit. Steve hisses quietly as Natasha dabs at the bruises and cuts on his face. Tony himself is sporting a padded bandage of truly epic proportions, and the wound aches like a bitch. Bruce had tried to talk him into going to the hospital, but Tony flatly refused.  
“Your Winter Soldier, is _his_ Bucky Barnes.” Clint chimes in, waving a hand between Natasha and Steve, who still looks like he’s in shock.   
“I reiterate: clusterfuck.” Tony grumbles, and can’t help but be concerned by the lack of reprimand for his language. “How long do you think he’ll sleep for?” He continues, desperate to fill the silence.   
“He’s been awake for about seven minutes now.” Natasha murmurs, not looking up from what she’s doing. Tony quirks a brow upwards,   
“Really? Damn, surprised I missed that.” He leans forward, until his nose is almost pressed against the glass.   
“Tony, cut it out. He’s not an attraction at the zoo.” Steve admonishes, but he sounds tired. Tony ignores him, and raps his knuckles against the glass, pleased when Barnes’ eyes immediately open. He slowly sits up, the motion smooth and almost robotic. It’s ridiculously creepy, in Tony’s opinion. He ignores the shuffling behind him as Steve gets closer to the glass and keys the intercom.   
“Hey, Robocop. Sorry about the glass box, but considering you recently tried to murder my fabulous person, it seemed necessary.” He says, watching Barnes carefully. Barnes tilts his head a little, but otherwise the expression on his face doesn’t change.   
“Command phrase not recognised. You are not handlers.” He states, monotonal. Steve flinches violently. The wolf leaps down from the bed and slowly begins to pace the room, carefully sniffing along the walls.   
“Buck, it’s me!” Steve nudges Tony out of the way with his ridiculously big shoulders. Barnes’ eyes cut to Steve, and Tony thinks there’s a momentary flicker in his expression, but it’s quickly wiped away.   
“Command phrase not recognised.” He reiterates, and a hysterical laugh builds in Tony’s throat. He’s put in mind of a computer, _‘password incorrect, access denied’_ .   
“No more command phrases. This isn’t HYDRA. We’ve got you, Buck. You’re safe.” Steve presses a hand against the glass, and Lillith presses one paw against it in a heartbreaking echo. Barnes doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to hear it; his wolf, however, ranges closer. It stares at Lillith through the doorway for a long moment, and then presses its nose where Lillith’s paw rests.   
“The asset has been stolen, then?” Barnes says, still in that eerily flat tone.   
“Damn right,” Tony chimes in before Steve can say anything, and Barnes’ eyes immediately switch focus. “No more HYDRA, no more missions, Barnes. Time to put your days of murdering behind you.” He continues, falsely chipper, and only barely squeaks when Steve kicks him in the shin.   
“The asset...is being decommissioned.” Barnes says slowly, and there’s something almost like relief in his eyes. “No more missions.” He whispers, almost to himself, and Steve’s breath hitches painfully.

 

##  **Part Three**

 

Barnes’ recovery is a painfully slow process; one that Tony is only peripherally aware of. He stays out of the way, mostly, holed up in his lab with all the data from the Oklahoma base. He finds extensive files on The Winter Soldier, on Barnes, and reading them is enough to supply Tony with ample nightmare material for the rest of his life. Steve is a ghost around the tower, spending his every available moment sitting outside the Hulk room, and then when it’s safe, inside it. It takes weeks before Barnes stops referring to himself as ‘the asset’, though Tony doesn’t think it means he’s stopped _thinking_ of himself that way.

 

After all, Tony is uncomfortably familiar with what it’s like to lose your sense of self.

 

It’s that thought that has him accepting when Steve awkwardly asks him if he’ll look at Barnes’ arm. He packs a few tools onto a belt Natasha had bought him as a joke last Christmas (“Every superhero needs a utility belt, Tony”), because he can’t see Barnes reacting well to him carrying a tray of them in. Steve is present, which doesn’t surprise him in the least; he’s pretty sure Steve sleeps on the floor next to Barnes’ bed like the world’s clingiest puppy. The door slides open,  
“Alright, Red October, let’s see what we’ve got.” Tony says, all false bravado as he all but struts in. Barnes is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the doorway. He’s rigid and pale, but appears mostly calm. The wolf crowded against his legs, snarling and all but frothing at the mouth is a different story. Lillith, lying in an elegant sprawl on Barnes’ pillow, jumps down and pins the wolf beneath her bulk, where she begins to aggressively groom it. Tony watches the exchange, his breath frozen in his lungs. He misses Rae then, so acutely it’s painful, and his eyes burn. The hollow space in his chest feels like it throbs, and Tony half turns towards the door, sure that he needs the silence of his workshop, and fuck it, maybe a bottle of scotch too.

 

Steve catches him before he can make good on the thought, slinging an arm around his shoulders and gently guiding him into the room.  
“Don’t mind Auri,” He soothes, ignoring the squirming wolf entirely as he carefully deposits Tony on a chair facing Barnes’ side. Tony takes a moment to breathe, closing his eyes against the clawing agony in his chest.   
“Sorry.” Barnes murmurs, gesturing awkwardly down at his furry protector. Tony forces a smile, wide and false.   
“Don’t sweat it. Wolves always make me nervous.” He lies easily, and settles further back in the chair. “But anyway, let’s take a moment. You look like you’re sweating bullets, and I’m not touching your arm until that changes.” He continues, and Barnes goes rigid.   
“M-maintenance is necessary.” He whispers, but he sounds like he’s reciting something. Tony hums thoughtfully, and then leans down enough to catch Barnes’ eyes.   
“Sure, the arm needs a little looking after, and you’re definitely in the right place for that. But,” And here Tony pauses, waiting for Barnes to focus on him. “It doesn’t have to be now.”

 

Barnes’ eyes go wide and a little shiny; the reaction is enough that Tony doesn’t think anyone’s offered Barnes the _choice_ before, and he wonders why he’s surprised. Fucking HYDRA.   
“I...It hurts. The arm. I want…” Barnes trails off, and Tony waits with uncharacteristic patience as his brow furrows and he seems to struggle with himself. “I want it to stop.”   
“Excellent! Well in that case, get comfortable, old man, this could take a while!” He scoots his chair a little closer, and gleefully reaches for the arm. Barnes looks a little thunderstruck, staring at Tony like he can’t quite believe he’s real; Tony’s used to the look. And then,   
“You’re older. Technically.” He says, the barest hint of a smirk curling at his lips. Tony stares for a second, and then throws his head back and laughs.   
“Blasphemy! The cheek, calling me _old_ in my house, _my house_ !” He crows, mock offended. “Nothing but sass, all of you.” He waves his screwdriver threateningly at Steve, who’s making no effort to hide his amusement.   
“You can dish it out, but can’t take it, Stark?” Steve teases gently, and Tony snorts derisively.   
“You wish, Rogers. I just feel bad for you; in a battle of wits, you’re outmatched.” He winks to take the sting out of the words, and as he’s talking he gently takes hold of the metal limb. Barnes is close to relaxed now, watching the by-play between them with a tiny, bemused smile.

 

~x~

 

Working on the arm becomes a regular fixture of Tony’s week; one that continues even after Barnes finally moves into his own room on Steve’s floor. The first time Barnes steps into the workshop he looks nervous, until he claps eyes on the blue holograms lighting the room, and then he grins.  
“This is what I always imagined, reading those dime store novels.” He runs a careful hand over DUM-E when the bot wheels up, the bot beeping cheerfully at the attention. Tony looks up from an Iron Man gauntlet and smiles,   
“Welcome to the future, then, Buckaroo!”   
“Jesus, Stark. Can’t you call me Bucky?” He complains, though his eyes are smiling.   
“Are you kidding? Bucky is, easily, the most ridiculous name ever. I can’t say it with a straight face.”   
“Fine, how about James, then? Or does that offend you too?” Bucky drops onto the seat Tony indicates for him, and he’s grinning. It is, Tony decides, his favourite of Barnes’ new expressions.   
“Nah. Bucky is your name; if it’s what you wanna be called, Terminator, you got it.” He replies, laughing at the fond eye roll it gains him, though Bucky looks suspiciously bright eyed.

 

They settle into a comfortable silence as Tony carefully pokes at the innards of Bucky’s’ arm. Auri sits at their feet, her big head resting on Bucky’s lap, her eyes mostly closed. Tony ignores her, for the most part, in the same way he ignores the rest of the team’s Daemons. The less he looks, the less it hurts. He’s got a screwdriver in one hand and another dangling from his mouth by the handle when Bucky shifts, enough that Tony glances up.  
“I wanted to thank you, Stark.” He starts, slow and awkward, and Tony makes a disgruntled sound around the screwdriver. Lips twitching as though he wants to laugh, Bucky reaches up with his free hand and carefully plucks the tool from Tony’s mouth.   
“Y’say something, doll?” He inquires, all innocence.   
“Stark was my old man,” Tony informs him. “Tony will do, or so help me I will magnetise this sucker to every surface in the tower.”   
“Tony, then. Thank you, for...For this. For giving me a safe place to stay, for lookin’ after Stevie.” He shrugs a little with his free shoulder, and he ducks his head, a shy smile curling at his mouth. Tony shifts uncomfortably, a squirmy feeling in his chest he’s not quite sure what to make of.   
“Well, I assume you’re familiar with the Steve Rogers eyes.” He responds, proud of how even his voice sounds. “I will do many things to avoid those eyes.”

Bucky, bless him, let’s it go with another of those tiny smiles.

 

~x~

 

“Sir, I believe your presence might be required in the living area.” JARVIS’ voice brings Tony out of an inventing haze, and he blinks blearily around the room.  
“What time is it?” He asks, straightening slowly from his hunch and grimacing as his spine pops noisily. He’s getting too old to spend untold hours hunched over his workbench.   
“It is 3:43AM.” JARVIS responds promptly, “And might I suggest you hurry, sir?”   
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Tony grumbles, shuffling his way out of the workshop and into the elevator. “What’m I walking into, J?”.   
“Sergeant Barnes appears to be in distress, sir.” JARVIS supplies, and from his tone Tony knows the AI won’t say much more.

 

The elevator spits him out on the common floor, and Tony hurries down the hall to the living room. The room is dark when he gets there, and he almost doesn’t see Bucky; it’s the gleam of moonlight off the metal arm that gives him away, in the end.  
“JARVIS, lights at 4%.” He murmurs, and the lights obligingly turn up a fraction. Bucky is a pathetic huddle, wedged between the couch and an armchair, his head buried against his knees. His metal fist is twisted in his hair, in a grip that looks painful. Auri is on the armchair, leaning over the side and nosing gently at Bucky's ear. Tony considers retreating, running for Steve, anything but stepping into this landmine.

 

And then Auri looks up; he can’t ignore the pleading in those eyes, and he finds himself edging into the room.  
“Bucky?” He gets a whimper in response, and Bucky rocks slightly faster. Tony stops just out of arm’s reach, hands out like he wants to touch but not actually making contact. “You with me buddy?” Bucky takes in a shuddering breath, and Auri whines softly.   
“I can’t stop seein’ their faces. All the blood.” Bucky's breath hitches, a tiny sob escaping like he can’t keep it in.   
“Bucky…”   
“Don’t tell me it’s not my fault! It was still, it was still _me_ .” Tony shuffles a little closer, not touching, but close enough Bucky will be able to feel the heat of his body.   
“You’re right.” He whispers, and Bucky's head pops up immediately. “It was you, but Bucky, it wasn’t your _choice_ . You were a weapon, you didn’t ask to be fired.” Tony lifts his hand, and waits for Bucky to give him a miniscule nod. Permission granted, Tony slides gentle fingers into long hair, carefully loosing it from Bucky's grip.   
“If I’d been stronger…” Tony ‘tsks’ under his breath, and tugs on Bucky's hair in gentle admonishment.   
“You’re the strongest person I know, Bucky. Anyone would have broken after what you’ve been through. I’ve seen the files.” Bucky goes white, and where he’d begun to relax, his entire frame goes rigid now.   
“Then you know. How can you stand to look at me?” Tony huffs a laugh, though it’s not funny, and leans sideways against Bucky's knees.   
“I told you, you didn’t ask to be fired. I’m not going to lie to you and say it was easy for me, to know that, but...I blame HYDRA.” Tony smooths his hand through Bucky's hair, and almost smiles when the other man leans into his touch like he’s desperate for it. “I don’t blame you, I could never.” He adds in a whisper.

 

Slowly, as though he’s unsure of his welcome, Bucky shuffles out of the space, until he’s curled half in Tony’s lap, with Auri lying close beside them. Really, he’s too old to be sitting on the floor, but Tony finds that he’s content to sit there as long as Bucky needs.

 

And if his neck grows wet with Bucky's tears, and his back aches from being pressed uncomfortably against the corner of the couch. Well, no one but Tony needs to know.

 

~x~

 

Bucky starts bringing food down to the workshop, and sometimes he stays, curled up on the couch either reading or quietly watching Tony as he works.

 

~x~

 

“Aw, c’mon, that’s cheating!” Clint yelps, as Bucky steals the last dumpling and passes it to Tony. “Using your scary Russian assassin is cheating. Natasha, you’re my scary Russian, you should be defending me!” Natasha spears a shrimp from Clint’s carton and pops it into her mouth, chewing delicately; her expression is serious, but her eyes are laughing. Soon the rest of them are laughing at Clint’s crestfallen expression.

 

~x~

 

Movie night is a bittersweet joy in Tony’s week; he loves his family, and loves spending time with them. But it’s always hard, watching them curl up with their Daemons, and being hyper aware of the empty place inside him, the cold skin of his neck where a ferret used to curl. Tony has a big, fluffy armchair all to himself, large enough to curl up in. He can’t stand to be close to everyone, and so he never shares a couch.

 

The movie is just starting the opening credits when Steve walks in, and Bucky shuffles in behind him. He’s dressed in baggy sweats and a hoodie that’s too small. It takes Tony far too long to realise the hoodie is his, and he spends an inordinate amount of time wondering how Bucky got it. There’s something strangely...Nice, about seeing Bucky wearing his clothes. Steve takes his usual couch, and where Lillith would normally take the other side, now she curls up at his feet. It’s clear the space left over is for Bucky, but the former Winter Soldier eyes it uncertainly. Eventually, he shuffles further into the room, and while the team pretends to ignore him, he edges up to Tony’s chair.  
“Can I share with you?”

Tony’s first instinct is to decline, because he needs this distance, but Bucky looks so hopeful and scared, and it’s his first movie night. Tony knows he’s taken too long to answer when Bucky looks like he’s going to withdraw, the tips of his ears reddening.  
“Sure, Winter Cupcake. I can always use a space heater.”

 

It’s worth it, Tony thinks, for the way Bucky's face lights up. And if Tony falls asleep before the movie’s half over, his face smooshed into Bucky's shoulder, no one says anything.

 

Natasha takes a picture, though.

 

~x~

 

Auri has a luxury dog bed in the workshop, now and the couch has become Bucky's. Bucky tries to thank him, and Tony pretends he can’t hear him. Auri thanks him by scaring the pants out of the next reporter to make a snide comment in an interview. It doesn’t stop the hollow stab of pain, and the little voice that reminds him he’s a monster, but he can laugh, and even finds he means it.

 

~x~

 

“Pretty sure he ran out of bullets a while ago!” Bucky scowls, gesturing emphatically at the movie. “Why isn’t he bleeding everywhere? How has nobody shot him yet?” The look of horror only grows the longer the movie plays, as the hero improbably fights off a swarm of bad guys. Natasha swears in Russian, and then launches into a rapidfire spiel even Clint seems to have trouble following. Bucky gets louder and more irate, until Tony is howling with laughter, pressing his face against Bucky's flesh shoulder. Steve watches his two best friends with a sappy smile, until Clint gets sick of it and smacks him with a cushion.  
“Cut it out, Cap, you’re emoting everywhere!”

 

When Pepper arrives the next morning to foist paperwork on Tony, she finds the living room utterly destroyed, popcorn strewn across every available surface. In the middle of the chaos, the Avengers sleep peacefully, arranged across the furniture and the floor. She smiles, and quietly slips away.

 

~x~

 

Tony knows he’s in medical before he even opens his eyes. The sharp, irritatingly rhythmic beep of a cardiac monitor is his first clue. It accompanies the smell of lemon scented cleaner and the scratchy feel of hospital sheets. Tony peels gummy eyelids open and stares blearily around the room. The Avengers are ranged across it in various states of dishevelled; his first movement is enough to wake Bucky, who occupies the chair immediately next to the bed, and his head pops up from the edge of the bed.  
“Tony?” He half stands, leaning over and cupping Tony’s cheek with a gentle hand. In short order the rest of the team wakes, and Tony’s bed is soon surrounded by rumpled Avengers.   
“What happened?” He questions, and his voice sounds like he’s been gargling glass. Bucky immediately grabs a cup of water from the pitcher by the bed, and patiently holds the straw to Tony’s lips.   
“Slow.” He cautions, when Tony would have greedily sucked down the entire cup.   
“You caught a stray missile and it knocked you out of the sky.” Natasha smooths his hair back, and months ago the gesture would have made him uncomfortable, rather than making him feel safe.   
“Then you crashed into a building.” Steve looks pale and worried, but he’s smiling, so Tony figures he’s not dying (again).   
“Broke a few walls, and then you dented a steel girder. With your face.” Clint chimes in, and Tony snorts softly.   
“Ah, that explains why everything hurts.” He muses, and settles carefully back against the pillows. “Right! So, when are we springing me?” Bucky scowls, and Tony knows immediately from the look on his face that an argument is building up behind those stormy eyes.   
“I assume nothing here is serious enough to require hospital care?” He directs his gaze at Steve, and the blonde flushes guiltily.   
“You only just woke up!” Bucky protests hotly, and Tony shakes his head.   
“Yeah, nope, not happening, frosty. I want out, _yesterday_ .” Tony forces himself upright, and stares Bucky down. The silence lengthens, stretches right into awkward, and then Bucky snarls a curse and storms from the room, Steve on his heels.   
“I’ll go speak to the doctor.” Clint says after a beat, and flees a moment later.   
“I’ll call Pepper.” Bruce pats Tony’s ankle, a silent expression of affection and relief.

 

Tony sighs in the silence after, unaccountably exhausted despite having done essentially nothing. Natasha strokes his hand gently, and the gesture is so soothing Tony catches himself almost dozing off again.  
“You should go easy on him,” She says softly, and Tony rolls his head to look at her, quirking an eyebrow in silent question. “He has been very worried for you. This has been hard on him, he cares for you a great deal.” She leans down and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and then quietly leaves.

 

Left alone with his thoughts, Tony stares blankly at the wall, and considers the soft, wet look in Bucky's eyes when he’d first woken up.

 

##  **Part Four**

 

Tony knows he...well, _has affection_ for Bucky. He doesn’t want to, _can’t_ call it love, even in the privacy of his own mind. Denial only gets him so far, though; he can’t ignore the way his heart races every time Bucky smiles, the way his presence can chase away his darker thoughts. He thinks, in his weaker moments, that Bucky might share these feelings. Sometimes he’ll catch the former assassin watching him, a tiny smile on his face he doesn’t even seem aware of. Auri tends to hover disconcertingly close to Tony, categorically refuses to be ignored the way the rest of the team’s Daemons are. She doesn’t _touch_ , not quite; but she’s close enough that it could happen, and sometimes it feels almost like an invitation.

 

“Steve wants me to join the team.” Bucky says, late one night when the terrors of their respective pasts have chased their sleep from them. Tony hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t look away from his holograms. He senses this is conversation Bucky needs to have without intense eye contact.  
“Do you want to?” Tony frowns at the schematic, tweaking it with a rapid fire movement of one hand. “J, run that sim again with those figures. No, that won’t work either, try...this.”   
“I...have a lot to make up for. Maybe, maybe I can do that as an Avenger?”   
“That sounds like a question, not an answer, cupcake.” Tony quips, and gracefully ignores the scowl Bucky shoots him. The silence afterwards stretches for a few moments, but it’s thoughtful and Tony patients waits.   
“I think, yeah, I want to.” Bucky smirks, stepping through the holograms until he’s looming in Tony’s space, leaving the genius to blink owlishly up at him. “Someone’s gotta watch your back, punk.”   
“Not sure how Steve’s gonna feel about me stealing his nickname.” Bucky laughs, and gently flicks the tip of Tony’s nose, delighting in the way it immediately wrinkles.   
“If the shoe fits.” Tony can’t help the smile that steals across his face, and Bucky edges a little closer, until Tony can feel the heat of his body.   
“Tony,” Bucky pauses, and he looks terrified and hopeful. He gently cups Tony’s face in both hands, “You drive me crazy, doll.” He whispers, and then he leans down to press their mouths together.

 

There’s no fireworks, no dramatic swell of classical music, and still Tony feels like his world stops. Bucky's lips are warm and soft, but there’s nothing hesitant in the way he kisses. He’s bold and demanding, coaxing Tony’s mouth open to receive the slow, heady thrust of his tongue. His arms slide around Tony’s back, the metal one tangling carefully in his hair while the flesh cups his ass, pulling him in so their hips align. The hard lines of their cocks press together, and Tony whimpers into the kiss. It’s the best, most alive Tony can remember feeling in a long time, and he wants to drown in the feeling. Auri leans against his leg, and Bucky pulls back a fraction, pupils blown wide and a smile on his face like he’s found something truly amazing.  
“Oh, doll, you feel amazing.” He whispers, and kisses him again like he can’t help himself. Auri is a warm, comforting weight against him, and it’s that feeling that brings reality crashing back. It _shouldn’t feel good_. It’s wrong for someone to touch your Daemon, unless…

 

Tony tears himself out of the kiss, and wants to whimper again at the loss of Bucky's warmth. He spins to lean against the workbench, unable to face Bucky when he’s simultaneously hard and aching from just a _kiss_ , damn it, and on the verge of crying.   
“I can’t.” He whispers, and there’s silence behind him.   
“Bullshit, Tony, it felt like you damn well could a second ago.” Bucky doesn’t sound mad, but there’s confusion and a little hurt there, and Tony would kick his own ass if he were capable.   
“Oh, you’re a hot piece of ass, alright Barnes, and my cock knows it.” Tony whirls back around, and he hates himself with every word. He hates himself for the poisonous anger in his voice, for the way Bucky draws back like he’s been slapped. “But that doesn’t mean I want _this_ , an _us._ ”   
“But you, I thought-”   
“You _thought wrong_ !” Tony snarls, and thinks _God, Bucky, I’m sorry I’m such a liar, don’t go_ . “I may have forgiven you for murdering my parents, Barnes, but don’t think for a second that means I _like_ you!”

 

Bucky backs away, white as a sheet, and his eyes are shiny with tears. Auri crowds around his legs, lips pulled back in a snarl, and she looks like she wants to rip his throat out. Tony almost wishes she would.   
“Y-you’re lying.” Bucky whispers, soft and heartbroken, but before Tony can spill more vitriol he flees.

 

Tony slowly shuffles to the battered couch, Bucky's couch, moving like a man twice his age. He flops down and wraps himself in a blanket that smells like Bucky.  
“Lock it down, J.” He says hoarsely.

 

Alone in the workshop, Tony cries.

 

_Did you see? His Daemon’s gone._

 

_He’s got no Daemon._

 

_How can he have no Daemon? Is he even human?_

 

~x~

 

Tony stays in the lab for three days, before the need for food finally drives him upstairs. It’s breakfast time, and everyone is gathered in the kitchen to eat. Steve gives him a long, disappointed look. Natasha looks at him with something between pity and understanding. Clint and Bruce ignore him, as if he’s beneath their notice.

 

And Bucky? Bucky won’t even look at him.

 

~x~

 

“Sir, Sergeant Barnes is requesting entrance to the workshop.”

“Denied.”

 

~x~

 

Movie night comes and goes. Tony designs the Winter Soldier an all new arsenal. He sends it up the elevator with a list of instructions for Bucky to test, because he’s a coward.

 

 _Soulless,_ the emptiness inside reminds him every time he finds himself thinking of Bucky’s smile for too long.

 

~x~

 

“You shouldn’t push happiness away.” Natasha whispers, combing gentle fingers through his hair. Kyrrn hoots softly on her shoulder, the sound weirdly soothing.  
“You deserve so much more than this.” She indicates the empty workshop, the mess of half finished products, strokes a pointed hand along the stubble ruining Tony’s signature look.   
“I can’t, Nat. I got my Daemon killed, my _soul_. I can’t...I won’t survive something like that again.”

 

 _I break everything I touch_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. Natasha says nothing, merely holds him tightly until he finally sleeps.

 

~x~

 

“Sergeant Barnes is requesting entrance to the workshop.”

“Denied.”

 

~x~

 

They’re called to Assemble; Doombots running rampant through the streets of New York, and honestly, Doom should be Richards’ problem. The Avengers are a well oiled machine, and the fight is over refreshingly quick. Afterwards, Bucky approaches Tony, hand out like he wants to touch, and Iron Man flies away.

 

Bucky stares after him for a long time, fists clenched.

 

~x~

 

“Sir, I’m afraid he’s being quite insi-”  
_“Denied.”_

 

~x~

 

It’s a picture Tony hasn’t been able to bear looking at for a long time. After Afghanistan he’d taken it, and others like it and put them in a box, which he’d then done his best to forget the existence of. He’s dressed in his graduation robes, and Rhodey has a careless arm thrown around his shoulders. His cap is perched at a jaunty angle on his head, the tassel dangling in his face. He holds his degree up in one hand, and Astraea sits proudly on his shoulder, her dark eyes smiling. He strokes his fingers lightly over her face, and then carefully puts the picture back. He’s sitting on his bedroom floor, the evidence of his loss spread in a halo around him. There’s a bottle of scotch at his knee, but he hasn’t opened it, too caught up in memories.

 

He doesn’t hear the door open behind him, doesn’t realise he’s no longer alone until Bucky drops down beside him, close enough for their knees to touch. Auri walks past him, and flicks her tail at his shoulder in clear reprimand, then hops up to lie down on Tony’s bed. They sit in silence for a long time, and then finally Tony reaches down to pick up a tiny, ferret sized knitted jumper.  
“Her name was Astraea.” He whispers, holding the jumper out to Bucky, who takes it in gentle hands. “Pepper gave her that for Christmas.” Bucky turns the tiny article in his hands for a moment, his eyes deep and sad. He puts it down as carefully as he’d handled it, and then picks up one of the pictures when Tony makes no move to stop him.   
“A ferret. Suits you.” He smiles at the picture of a gangly teenaged Tony, asleep among a pile of textbooks with the little ferret curled up on his stomach.   
“Suited.” Tony chokes out, horrified when the first tear falls. “She died. In Afghanistan.”

 

It feels like the words open a floodgate, and without knowing how Tony finds himself choking out his story, the words torn from him inch by agonizing inch. He tells Bucky everything, raw and honest in a way he’s never been with _anyone_ . He tells him about being called ‘soulless’, a monster, about believing it. He tells him about the hollow feeling in his chest, and how sometimes his love for the Avengers makes it feel a little smaller but it’s never _gone_ . Somehow he ends up curled in Bucky’s lap, face tucked into a broad shoulder, cradled like something precious. When he’s done talking, he sobs his grief and his rage, and it feels like the wound is reopened. He feels like he’s lancing poison from a wound he’s let fester, and it _hurts_ but somehow it’s better.

 

Bucky holds him through it all, patient and solid, his hand combing gently through Tony’s hair and his lips periodically pressing against Tony’s sweaty temple.  
“I’m sorry,” Tony says, when the storm has passed and he feels hollowed out, but strangely at peace. “I should never have said those terrible things. I never meant them. I just, I don’t think I can be what you deserve. I’m...I’m broken, Bucky.” Bucky sighs, and with a gentle hand tips Tony’s face up so their eyes can meet.   
“I know, doll.” He says simply, and softens the response by kissing Tony’s forehead. “I knew then, too. I just didn’t know how to reach you. Natasha said you’d come back when you were ready,” He smiles a little. “And if you didn’t, she’d lock us both in the workshop until I could get through to you. You’re not broken, Tony, you’re hurting.”

 

Tony laughs, and the sound is a little choked, but it's real. He doesn’t know where they’ll go from here; nothing is _fixed_ per say.   
“Together, then?” He finds himself whispering, and Bucky smiles, and rewards him with a gentle kiss.   
“Together.”

 

~x~

 

Things aren’t magically fixed, but they do get _better_ . Waking up with Bucky every morning, and sleeping every night wrapped in his arms goes a long way to making Tony feel less alone. Auri takes every opportunity to touch him, pushing her furry head into his hands until he relents and scratches behind her ears. Bucky complains half heartedly that his Daemon loves Tony more, but Tony knows it’s bullshit for the way he smiles every time he watches them. Auri isn’t a replacement for what he’s lost, and he knows she’s not trying to be, but it _helps_.

 

And then there’s the team.

 

The first morning they walk to breakfast hand in hand, Steve beams like Tony’s given him a gift and Natasha looks quietly smug. The others just quietly accept the change, but he knows they all approve. He’s surrounded on all sides by their love and approval, and it’s…

 

It’s amazing.

 

~x~

 

It’s a rare moment of peace and quiet in the Tower, with all the inhabitant absent save for Tony and Bucky. They’re stretched out on the couch together, Tony using Bucky as a pillow, their legs tangled. Their lips are swollen and tingling, evidence of how they’ve been spending their time. Tony cups Bucky’s jaw in a hand that only shakes a little, nuzzling gently at the sensitive spot just behind his ear.  
“I love you,” He whispers, and ignores the way his heart pounds, his stomach knotting with anxiety. Bucky smiles, and it’s Tony’s new favourite of Bucky smiles.   
“I love you too, doll.”   
  
“Sir! I believe someone is attempting to h _rrrrrk_ -” JARVIS’ voice fizzles into a staticky shriek, fading into silence at the same moment as the windows explode inwards. Bucky reacts instantly, rolling them to the floor and placing the couch between them and the men rappelling in through the windows. Auri snarls and takes a flying leap from the back of the couch, catching an eagle Daemon in her jaws with a sickening crunch.   
“HYDRA.” Bucky growls, and lunges to his feet to meet the first of them. He’s poetry in motion, brutal and efficient. Tony joins the fight without hesitation, and he’ll never be as deadly at hand to hand fighting as the rest of the team, except for Bruce, but he’s sparred with Natasha, Steve and Bucky. He’s no slouch.

 

The numbers are against them, and it shows when the first three darts catch Bucky in his flesh shoulder, and he starts to slow. Auri whines, tottering like a newborn calf as the drugs affect her too. Another two darts get Bucky in the chest, and he slowly falls to his knees. He’s immediately seized by three men.  
“Bucky!” Tony shouts, trying to fight his way closer, to help, to do something. He goes down shortly after, when a lucky shot catches him in the temple and the world spins alarmingly. Nausea threatens to lose him his last meal, but he grits his teeth and grimly holds on. His arms are seized by hard hands, who twist them uncomfortably behind his back.   
“What do we do with Stark?” One of them asks, as the man who is undoubtedly the leader steps close enough to yank Bucky’s head up by the hair.   
“We are here to retrieve the Asset. Stark is of no consequence. Kill him.”

 

Bucky snarls and starts thrashing like a wild animal, the whites of his eyes showing.  
“No, no, no, no!” He shouts, and he sounds desperate and afraid, verging on tears.

 

Rage like Tony’s never known boils up inside him, as he strains against his captors. These men, these _monsters_ , have invaded his home, laid hands on what’s his, and Tony wants to _end them._   
“You take your hands off him, you filthy fucks!” He screams, and behind the arc reactor his heart _pounds._

 

His chest is burning, he feels like he’s on fire, and he screams again when he realises there is fire. It spreads in a halo around him, and the men holding him let go with agonised yells and the smell of burning flesh fills the room. There’s a high pitched shriek, and Tony claps hands to his ears, watching with wide eyes as the fire coalesces into a shape. The bird, huge and burning strikes the leader full in the face, and Tony feels a distant sort of _wrongness_ as the man stumbles back with a bloody and burned face. It’s chaos, now, as the agents shoot at the bird and it ignores the bullets like they’re of no consequence. It goes after them one by one, clawing with wicked talons and stabbing viciously with it’s beak, until there’s no one left standing.

  
Tony barely manages to crawl to Bucky, pulling the other man into his arms and crooning nonsense to him. Bucky is shaking, but much calmer, watching the inferno tear their enemies apart. When it’s all over, the bird lands delicately in front of them. It seems to shrink as the fire winks out, until something that resembles the shape and build of a falcon, if a falcon had feathers of a vibrant red and gold.   
“Tony,” The bird says in a familiar voice, and Tony’s eyes widen.   
“Rae?” He chokes out, reaching forward with a trembling hand. It can’t be, and yet the same dark, soulful eyes look back at him, the love in them as strong as it’s always been. “You’re dead.” He whispers, clinging to Bucky with his other arm.   
“Oh, Tony,” Astraea murmurs, and hops forward to press her silky, feathered head into his palm. “I never left you, I never would. You just needed to believe that again.”

 

Tony sobs, and Astraea walks close enough for him to get an arm around her, and he’s probably squishing her but he finds he can’t care. She’s warm and perfect in his arms, cooing softly as she grooms her beak through Bucky’s hair. Auri hobbles over and sprawls across their laps.  
“Hello, Astraea. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Auri says, mouth open in a canine smile, and Bucky presses a gentle kiss to Tony’s temple.   
“Not so broken as you thought, doll.” He whispers, and Tony laughs.

 

He knows there’ll be questions, questions he’s not sure he has the answer to; a Phoenix for a Daemon? Unheard of. But Tony finds he doesn’t care.

 

He’s finally whole

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap, folks! I hope you enjoyed the journey. Leave a kudos, or if you're feeling really generous, a comment, eh? ;)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://www.tumblr.com/mistrstank)


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